


i feel it too

by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, baby's first reylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 21:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13175919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymegtargaryen/pseuds/hipgrab
Summary: Just some smutty, smutty smut. Post throne room battle sex. Need I say more?





	i feel it too

The last of the Praetorian guards goes down, a crimson crumple on the polished floor. The room is quiet save for their own panting. Their eyes meet over the crimson bodies and polished black floor, their faces glowing with sweat and triumph and something else Rey can’t quite name. He rises like a shadow on a wall, and before he’s even taken a step she knows that he’s going to cross to her. Her body moves of its own accord, and if it wasn’t for the fact that she can feel her feet on the floor, sure and steady, she’d think she was being Force-propelled to him. But there’s no ethereal power in the way his hands grasp her face, or in the way his lips descend on hers. It’s just...him. Him and her and a raw  _ something _ between them. 

He’s so  _ tall _ . She feels so small standing before him, her arms reaching up to draw him down to her. He  _ growls _ , low and primal, and lifts her off her feet, his hands gripping her rear as he presses her core against him. Her legs are splayed awkwardly on either side of his hips; when she feels his hardness against her, she gasps and arches her back, grinding up harder against him. She hooks her ankles around his lean frame, groans into his mouth as he holds her against him, his fingers digging so hard into her flesh that there will be bruises. She’s so  _ wet _ , wetter than she’s ever made herself on those lonely nights in her hunk of tin out in the middle of the desert. She had only her hand and her imagination then, limited to what she’d seen and heard. It’s so very different from having the  _ real thing _ , an actual living person to show her things she never knew she wanted until now. The friction of him against her, her thin, damp trousers and his thick leather pants, rubs her deliciously.

“Be-en,” she gasps, grinding frantically against him, but it isn’t enough. She  _ needs _ him, touching her, inside her, and as if he reads her thoughts ( _ maybe he does _ ), he sinks to the polished black floor, still holding her against him. He sets her down on the ground as gently as if she were made of glass--but when his lips and teeth find her neck, he is anything but gentle. He licks and bites and sucks all over her neck and collarbone, his movements unsure at first but growing bolder as she responds to him. She wonders, dimly, if he has ever done this before, or if it is the first time for both of them. The thought sends a hot rush of pleasure down her core, and she bucks her hips against his. 

He pulls back, lifting himself off her and looking down at her like he can’t quite decide what to do with her. But she’s impatient, her blood rushing in her ears, and all she wants is for him to be inside her. She grabs his hand and pulls off his leather glove, then reaches for the other. He watches as she does, curious to see where this is going. As soon as he is divested of his gloves, she takes one hand and presses it to her breast, molds his hand over the swell. He squeezes her breast, hard enough to make her whimper. She reaches up, tangles her fingers in his midnight black hair and tugs his lips down to hers. The clasps of her arm brace catch on his robe and he pulls back, unclasping the thing with nimble fingers. But when he drops it carelessly to the side, he doesn’t go back to palming her breast as she’d hoped--he wraps her wrist in his hand and pins it to the floor, just above her head. He does the same with the other wrist, his breath coming short and harsh as she looms over her, his pupils blown wide at the sight of her held down beneath him. 

She doesn’t quite know what to do. “Well?” she murmurs, half-coy, half-questioning. 

He kisses her hungrily and shifts so that he holds both her wrists with one hand. The other reaches down between them, shucks at her pants until his hand slips beneath them and over her briefs and her hips buck wildly against his fingers. Something loud and obscene escapes her throat, and when he pulls back to look at her, she doesn’t know why, she just says, “ _ Please _ .” 

His hand slips out from her pants and tugs at her clothing, a growl of frustration leaving his lips as he tries to unlatch and unwind. She bats his hands away, pulls herself free while those nimble fingers of his unclasp his robe. 

Their clothes are only half off when he touches her center again, his nimble fingers turned impatient with desire. “You want me,” he breathes, as if he has only just now realized it. His eyes darken and he leans forward, pins her wrists above her head again. “Say it,” he orders softly. “ _ Say it _ .”

“I want you,” she says without hesitation, following his hand. “I want you so much.”

He slides two fingers into her and she lets out a high, keening moan. He moves them in and out, both of them panting at just how slick she is. His thumb swirls languidly over her clit, making her toes curl in her boots; when he slips a third finger into her, she shudders around him, her hands straining against his where he’s still pinning them down. Her eyes swim back into focus just in time to see him licking the fingers that were inside her, and it’s enough to make her nearly come again. 

He tugs at his pants until he slips free; she doesn’t get to see, still pinned as she is to the floor, but by the Maker, she  _ feels _ him slip so perfectly inside her it’s like she was made for him. They both groan, and his grip on her wrists trembles ever so slightly. He pulls out and then slides in and they groan again; he does it again, and again, until Rey wraps her legs around his hips and meets him, thrust for thrust. He’s so tall that he can’t kiss her without slowing his movements, and when he does she whines, “Don’t stop, don’t stop,  _ faster _ , please…”

He does, driving his hips against hers. It’s good, but only good, and after a few minutes she tightens her legs. “Harder.”

He goes harder, but it’s still only good, so she digs her heel into his rear. “ _ Harder _ .” 

His hips drive hers into the polished black floor, and  _ this _ feels right,  _ this _ is what she wants,  _ this _ is what she never knew she wanted until now. Her breath comes in short, sharp pants as she works furiously to meet his thrusts, but he’s driving into her with a speed she didn’t know was possible. Her back arches clear off the floor, her chest brushing his as her spine goes so taut she fears it may snap. He lowers his head to kiss her breasts through the rough fabric of her shirt, one hand holding her waist as he pounds into her. 

He’s  _ fucking _ her, she’s being  _ fucked _ , and  _ Maker _ if it doesn’t feel better than anything that’s ever happened to her. 

The hand at her waist slides around, slips to that place just above where they’re joined. She sigh-sings his name, trembling beneath his hands as she gets closer.

“I’m--”

“I know.” His lips hover over hers. “I feel it, too.”

They come at the same time, a senseless slew of words and sounds tumbling out of their mouths. He collapses, rolling to her side and tugging her against his chest. Her hands, free now, stroke his face, his hair, his lips. 

“Rey,” he murmurs against her fingers. She curls them against his lips.

“Don’t say anything,” she whispers. “Not yet.”

Tenderly, so tenderly, he kisses her fingers and the red marks on her wrist, and she thinks that she’s really in trouble now.


End file.
